New Year's Fish
by 28-characters-later
Summary: It's the final day in the year 839, and a young Marco thinks of an interesting way to spend new years eve.


It was getting close to the next year, a nice rounded number; 840. The markets were always bustling at the start of the year making it a good time to try and sell things. Eliza Bodt went over her collection of herbs. Every year they were made into freshly mixed tea bags which sold relatively well.

A small freckled five-year-old, scampered after a yellow and red ball just beyond his stubby fingers. The ball rolled under the table of herbs his mother was examining. He peeked underneath but he couldn't see his toy. The small boy sat heavily on the ground and pouted a glare at the table.

The woman chuckled softly as she bent down and scooped him up. "Marco, baby, don't make such a face, you're not three anymore." She brushed a few stray tufts of black hair from Marco's forehead. "Use your words, baby."

Marco pointed under the table, "Can you get my ball from under there?" His mother raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly, waiting. "Please?"

Eliza nodded, kissing his forehead, "There's a good boy." She set him down before crouching under the table. Feeling around in front of her, her hand finally landed on something soft and round. Backing out from under the table, she gave her son the ball and stood up.

"Thanks, mommy!" Marco grinned, a gap in his smile from a missing front tooth. His wide curious brown eyes followed his mother as she looked through her herbs again. "What's that for?"

"Tomorrow's going to be a good day to sell things at the market. I'm going to make as many tea bags as I can."

The tiny noiret wrinkled his nose, "That's the same thing we did last year!"

Eliza turned to the small boy and put her hands on her hips. "Do you have a better idea, little man?" She grinned playfully at the child.

Marco nodded enthusiastically, "Fish! When it was warm, me and Mattie went in the lake and she grabbed one!"

Mama Bodt dropped her arms at her side, "Sweetie, it's much too cold for that now."

"Oh…" Marco dropped his head, disheartened, rolling his ball in his hands.

His mother tapped her chin. "Though, there might be a way, if we can get through the ice… Come on; let's go find your father." Taking her son's tiny hand she started for the door.

Marco dropped his ball, letting it roll safely off into the corner as he followed his mother out. Once outside, his mom headed to the small shed attached to the side of the house. There, she found her husband, kneeling over a basket with her daughter Mattie. They didn't notice as she walked up. Marco yelled, "Hey! Wanna go fishing?" That got their attention.

"Hi Marco," his fathered smiled, "I love fish too, but I think it's too cold now. It's almost the start of the new year! Winter is here. Lots of snow, lots of ice."

"Remind me, Louis. Didn't you used to go out on to the ice and cut a hole for fish? With Old Karl?"

"Ah yes, I did," he said, squinting up at his wife, the sun in his eyes. "Yes. Yes, we did." Catching on to where this was going, Louis stood, stretching a little. He then started rummaging through the wooden chest that was used to hold larger items in the shed. "The hand turning drill we made to cut through the ice should still be here…He gave it to me shortly before he enlisted into the Scouts…" Picking up hammers, chisels, and other tools and carefully setting them to the side, Louis finally spotted it. He saw the curling metal waves first, and stretched his fingers carefully beyond the sharp edges of the ice drill, reaching the angled handle. He grabbed the tool by the offset handle, and tugged it out into the light, turning it from side to side.

"Ooh." Mattie stood and peered over his father's shoulder. "That will cut through the ice?"

Louis nodded, checking around if any of the fishing lures made it into the chest as well. There. He found one. A small, brightly colored wooden fish seemed to stare back with tiny black painted eyes. Curved hooks dangled from its belly; its 'scales' were made of netting glued to the wooden shape. Fuzzy white feathers tufted out from one end, hiding a small, very sharp hook.

"Hey Marco, wanna see something I made years ago with one of my friends? We used to use it to catch fish. They'd try to eat it." Heading back over to small boy, Louis held it so the boy could see it, but just out of reach.

Marco's eyes widened as he looked over the lure. "It's a fish! Why would a fish want to bite a fish?"

Louis chucked softly, "Well, fish are carnivores; they eat other fish."

Marco tilted his head questioningly "Like those big people other grownups talk about? And why we have the big walls?"

"Sorta, but those aren't other people." Louis cleared his throat. "Anyway, we should be able to get some fish with a few of these!"

Marco bounced happily up and down. "Can we keep some and eat them too?"

His father ruffled his son's hair, smiling warmly. "If we catch enough, sure."

"Yay!" Ushered by his mother, the small boy skipped back into the house.

Packing the extra stuff back into the trunk but taking out a spool of heavy wire and long wooden poles, Louis called over his shoulder, "You wanna come too, Mat, right?"

The blonde nodded enthusiastically. "Yes of course! Ice-fishing is a good thing to know!"

He nodded with approval. After putting the stuff back in the crate, they followed the others into the house. There, they found Marco shoving his arm into a thick woolen jacket as his mom held the collar. She was already bulky with shirts, trousers and a woolen coat, a knitted cap yanked down to her eyebrows. Another fuzzy hat poked out of an oversized pocket.

After they were all dressed warmly and found a bin for carrying fish, they went to the lake. They stepped onto the ice carefully. Louis looked around, and then called to his children.

"Okay. Can you two brush the snow off the ice, from about here," he stretched out his left arm, "to here?" he added, reaching his right arm out at an angle. The space between both arms covered about 10 feet. "Go slowly, and listen very carefully for any cracking sounds. Your mom and I will listen too."

Mattie and Marco slid slowly out, then swept their feet off to the side, pushing snow away. Marco grabbed some snow and crumbled it between his hands. Swap! White now clung to Mattie's jacket from where Marco's ice ball struck home. Between snowballs, their mittened hands cleared the circle of ice.

Louis put the tip of the drill on the ice, putting pressure on it as he rotated the handle. Little by little it started to chip into the ice. Mattie watched his every move, then silently reached for the drill. Marco's eyes widened as Mattie held the top wooden knob with one hand, while rotating her other handed below it as she clutched the side handle. The wide, sharpened curves of drill blade bit into the frozen lake, widening a circular hole.

Taking turns, Mattie and Louis deepened the hole. With a downward jerk, the last bit of ice gave way. Louis set the drill aside, and widened the hole with a short narrow saw. The lure was threaded onto one end of a length of wire, the other attached to a rod. The wooden fish was slipped through the hole.

Nothing seemed to happen for several minutes. Marco could feel cold seeping through to his skin, and his small mouth gathered into a pout. This was boring. Just then, the rod in his hands bounced, and something heavy pulled on the line. Mattie grabbed onto the pole and pulled. First a shiny pointed jaw appeared, then with one last tug, a fish slithered out onto the ice. Its mouth opened and closed, and flopped about, raising its head and tail. "That's a perch!" smiled their mom, as she scooped it between her hands and dropped it into the bin.

One after another, four perches joined the first one in the bin.

"Must be a school of them just below," Louis observed. Marco giggled and excitedly asked if he could reel in the next one. This one tugged a lot harder and the little boy almost had the rod pulled right out of his tiny grip.

His sister grabbed the pole again and together they pulled out a long grey fish with small black spots. It was slimy and had long thick whiskers around its mouth.

"A _catfish_? I didn't know there were any in this lake," the mother mused, looking wide-eyed at the large whiskered fish flopping around on the line. After a moment of struggling, Louis took it off the line and put it in the bin with the other fish.

Marco reached down to pet the catfish muttering "It's a cat? I didn't know there were water-cats…" but Mattie gently caught his arm.

"No, no kiddo, it might bite you. It's not too happy about being caught, see?"

Marco watched the catfish bump around in the bin.

"Oh. Ok, can I pet it later when it's not mad? It's a cat, but it's not making me sneeze!"

His parents and sister chuckled a bit.

"It's not actually a _cat_ , Marco," his father started, grinning, "it's only called a catfish because of its whiskers."

Marco looked back down at the fish before looking back up at his parents. "Can we keep this one?"

His parents pondered the idea. Catfish, while interesting looking, were often regarded as the scavengers as they mostly feed off of waste at the bottom: dead fish or the leftovers from other fish. Not too likely to sell, but the Bodt's wouldn't have any problems with eating it. After a moment his mother nodded, "Yes we'll keep this one." She smiled. "And you caught it too, you needed a little help pulling it out, but this was your first catch!"

Marco helped carry the bin back home, though in reality he mostly held on to the side. He grinned with pride for catching such a big fish. This would feed all of them.

Back home, the tools were cleaned, dried and put away. Louis spiked the fish, and drained out the blood behind the shed. He dumped the water from the bin and filled the bottom with snow, then placed all the perch that were caught on top of this. More snow was packed over them.

Louis bled out the catfish, then using a long thin knife, slit the belly. Quickly, he gutted Marco's prize catch, but he carefully avoided damaging the whiskers or the wide heavy head. Then, he scooped the fish onto a platter and went back inside the house.

Because Marco had wanted to pet it earlier, he first let the young boy touch the fish, feeling its whiskers and its smooth, slimy skin. He then told Marco to go wash his hands, and took the fish into the kitchen area to help his wife cook it for dinner.


End file.
